Perserve Dignity

Because you feel slighted,
Your whole world is blighted;
Scorched earth is your creed.

As the flames burn brighter,
Your own inner fighter
Pummels ghosts of rage.

Your glasses distorted;
All words are reported
As attacks on you.

Suggestions are rebels,
Ideas… an uprise;
Fear bolts the old doors.

To flush out the evil,
Fabricate. Medieval
Torture finds the truth.

You need persecution,
-A fake execution-
To achieve some peace?

So fragile, so threatened,
Yet deeply unvetted

Vast, vengeful library
Is this necessary?
Obliterate foes.

Wash your world, cleanse the view,
Victim? Not likely you;
Be a damn adult.

Perspective is a tale,
Of alliances that fail;
Allies seem villains.

When the bridges all burn
I am not your concern;
Burn it all to hell.

Take high roads, less crowded,
Dodge drama unshrouded;
Treasure dignity.

You, your own enemy;
Lies and bad memory
Fulfill your own doom.

Kite Dreams

He always wanted to fly a kite.

Darius imagined that either he would fly his kite, or let the string twine round his throat. Perhaps it was a physical euphemism for a subconscious connection to his plight.

Fly or die.

The beach stretches for miles to the right. The wild woods to the left. Breezes from the ocean swiftly float mist from the churning waves. The trees whisper their acquiescence in a lullaby of sorrow.

Darius rolls into the sand, combing through his fingers the granules of gold and silence. Flick back the sands of twenty years, and he was just a boy sprinting through the waves. Now, he is a man. A young man, struggling to find the meaning of life. The thread of destiny. What is there, in this life, for him?


Jonas strokes Darius’ cheek, a brush of sweet everlasting pain. A light kiss, the pressure of skin on skin.

Wrap it up and give it away. All the worry, all the concern. The decisions that every second demand…


Stumbling through the city lights, the stench of rot and filth permeates the air as Darius slides past the metal grates. Wrapped in fear and shame, the shivers of delicious pain floats above the struggles and display. His breath sucks in the poison and thinks it paradise.

He knows better now. But too late.

Jonas’ arms wrap around Darius’ shoulders. An embrace nearly claustrophobic now… He can’t seem to escape -but then, does he even want to? Smart moves need to be made, can he manage to place the proper bets?

Weeping, Darius slides to his knees, clasping Jonas’ knees in a grip so desperate, the denim fabric crinkles in the way only ironing can resolve. Shuddering sobs vibrate through his spine bowing in supplication -or perhaps…


Jonas stands silently, and somehow, that silence is worse than rejection. Worse than extracting organs from his ribcage and cracking his remaining bones despite turning to dust by the rejection. Filling the void never seemed so difficult as in those moments when Darius had felt needed, wanted, desired, determined-


Those days are gone, long gone. And now he has become the ‘other woman’.

Oh, how he will flay himself later. How he will self-flagellate.

Hold, then release.


Jonas strides away, the echo of his words ringing in Darius’ ears like the tremors of an approaching earthquake. Increasing aptitude, inherent longitude. And the sweet scent of decay and ozone taints the air.

Lightning has just killed his dreams.

Darius stands in the window. The wind and the storm blow detritus and trash up and down the streets. The remnants of his relationship blow across his mind.

The final resolution and last fantasy dances in the drifting heaps as they form, dissolve, and recongregate.

Just the cold glass, a rain-struck view, and his blatant anguish remain.



Hasn’t happened yet

He walks through the door,
He brought the sketch;
Crinkled paper in sweaty palms.
The bell jingles as he enters,
The buzz like a soft whine;
He stares in your eyes-
“Make it good,” he says,
Make it bleed, he thinks.

You shrug, he nods,
He doesn’t even know where to put it;
How could he pack in 12 years of pain
Into one simple ink blot?

He can explain it all,
The elements and what they stand for:
The flames, the ice picks, the daggers,
The blood, the pitchfork,
The black heart, the devil wings,
A final halo…

Salt slick skin on his upper lip,
He didn’t know what to expect
Pain in spades and hinted regrets;
Adding art, subtracting perfection;
He’s a fuck up anyway, gotta own that shit
He is who he is.

And color cancels pigmentation
The final asphyxiation
Turns purple into blue,
And white into black.
Tell him, seraphim,
What light do you have to shine
On this dark, foreboding day?
Useless sour kisses and lemon juice tears.

Blinking his eyes open to a new day,
Ignoring the crumpled paper
Clenched in his fist like an unfinished prayer;
Does it monument his past
Or his future? He stares in the mirror
Of false accusation, or is it a condemnation?
But, then again, it’s all the same
Yesterday is today tomorrow…

Coffee #27 – Tend Your Lawn

Life and Lawns

Life stretches out like a property -a lawn- caged by time. The lawn ornaments are chosen with care, maintenance outlined on a regular schedule.

People come for barbecues, luncheons, dinner parties, afternoon drinks, siestas, playtime, playdates, morning coffee, and stargazing. Garbage gets tossed on the lawn, cans in the hedges, tissue among the flowers and plastic bags in the trees. The grass grows tall, the litter piles up, and weeds take over.

You’re responsible for your lawn. You are responsible for your life. Clean it, or don’t.

Continue reading Coffee #27 – Tend Your Lawn

To the Owl

I want to write letters to you.
Telling you how strong and brave you are;
And how I wish I could be like you,
Or even, be you…

How odd that our lives always seem better from the other side
Of the one-way mirror.

How unfortunate too,
That you will regard my words as fiction
And leave my messages unread.

Perhaps I do not bring better memories,
Or, I am the unpleasant reminder;
Ignorance keeps me the unwanted spector
An unhappy spectator.

Regardless, the gears must turn,
And the falcon must return to the sun;
Lest the whole world should come undone.


In the quiet of my mind, I have no need
To justify, to explain, to defend.
It’s just my thoughts, my knowledge
My complete and utter trust,
My complete and utter devotion.

The chess board floats in the koi pond;
Don’t be shy, approach the zen garden,
And comb the sands for diamonds;
The flame flickers in the brazier,
Sharpen your tools and wait.

Whose fault? Your fault.
Fault is a line, and a line is the distance
Between two points.


I am so tired.
Tired of messages left unresponded;
Tired of conversations left unfinished.
Tired of people pretending to care.
Save me now or leave me untouched.
I was just fine before you arrived,
I’ll survive your aftermath.

I’m standing in the doorway-
Should I shut the door?

Honesty is pale.
Treat it gently and just maybe
I can become we.

Overly Absorbed

I could sit and stare for hours.
Hypnotized by the flow of paint across the canvas.

Your hand directing the flowing colors like a director of a play-
Everything must be in place. Yet it looks so effortless…

I could be jealous of your dedication, but I am simply awe-inspired.
Should I sit from afar? Watching like a desperate disciple?

Should I pick up my brush once more?
Or should I continue with the ink?

Or should I discard them all and dedicate
To the instruments that beckon, and the tunes that sing?

Would that I had ten limbs and ultimate dexterity
To dedicate myself to all the arts that summon me.

Only half a brain to the arts, the remainder to logic
And whence shall I send these numbers and stratagems?

Writhing with indecision, how can I possibly master one-
When I am, in turns, distracted by each of the others?

Am I to be blessed with the aptitude to do all-
And, yet, be cursed to master none?

Patience and dedication, perch on my shoulders
Breed content and resolution to the tears in the fabric of my indecision.

Teach me to care and be grateful, to not care and be discontent,
Teach me the bridge between calm and chaos…

Bring me Ethos.
Bring me… the Horizons.

Ohhhh, Dear NAIVE…

I don’t know whether to hug you or hit you,
I almost think you’re pulling my leg;
You can’t really be this naive
Can you?

I don’t know whether to save you or hang you,
I can’t stand the decisions you make;
You can’t really be this dumb
Can you?

I can’t decide whether to let you walk off the ledge
Or stop you in your tracks;
I can’t wake you up from those
Hearts in your eyes.

Stupid is your shield and ignorance your creed,
But being gullible isn’t an excuse;
You still belong on my table
Carved up like a steak.

The more you talk, the more my fingers itch,
My fingers, your necktie, so much quieter…
How can you not understand how the world
Really works?

You still think that justice is more than just a word?
That good and bad guys are different guys
And that your “vote” actually matters?

You have such a punchable face…
How can you carry around
That disgrace of a brain that’s
Never been used?

I admit that I am a cynic by nature
But experience and history play a role;
It’s quite painful for me to listen
As you prattle on.

Ah… dear naive, how can you possibly live in this world?
Vulnerable and coy, prey to be destroyed;
The predators are everywhere, please learn
To fake it soon.